


Carnal Pleasure

by uglyinternet



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Femdom, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Submissive, handjobs, michael is a virgin let’s be honest, sensual, sub!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22446496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyinternet/pseuds/uglyinternet
Summary: But each time he let his eyes move back to hers, hold her gaze for more than a few minutes he felt a low ache in his cock that he had never felt before. At least not from someone else. Another person. His entire life he had been too busy blazing a path for his fathers reign of terror to take over the new world. He didn’t care or have time for such urges and pleasure. He found no need in it. Satan was carnal pleasure, but one he didn’t not participate in.
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Original Female Character(s), Michael Langdon/Reader
Kudos: 77





	Carnal Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> sub!michael?? did you mean a COMPLETE weakness???!!! 
> 
> this was written waaay back for kinktober and i’m finally posting it over here (decades later). the theme for that day was: handjobs.

Langdon had been at the outpost for a couple of weeks now. No one knew exactly when he was going to announce who was going to the sanctuary, and who would be left to die. No one knew if it was all just a lie or if their days were truly numbered. 

Venable did little to help those thoughts and wonders. Her distaste for Langdon was obvious. Anytime he would enter the same room with her the air would change, more than it usually did when he entered the room. You could feel the tense and fight for power and the scowl on Venable’s face was hard to miss. 

The outpost was already an unpleasant place to be in, but with Langdon around Venable had made it even more unpleasant. Asserting more dominance and rules than ever. A ploy to still feel like she was in control they were all sure. 

Langdon only found amusement out of it. Her need to feel as if she were still in power, even with him doing absolutely nothing to make her feel so other than smiling at her from across the room, or even entering the room. She felt completely threatened by him. Everyone did. 

But yet, anytime he would enter then room the girl would not tense up. Not let her body grow cold or anxious from what might happen, what might be said. If in all honesty she did not care much about if she was going to be chosen or not. She hadn’t let herself give it much thought. It was the end of times. There wasn’t much to think about. Much to worry about. Whatever fate was heading her way was undeniable and unstoppable. So, while she was in this make shift dungeon she mine as well make the best out of it. 

The girl had a tendency to break the rules. It had been a bad trait that followed her from her teen years into her adult ones. And breaking Venable’s rules were no different. Not shameful, not worrisome to the girl. It was the end of the world, she didn’t think there really needed to be rules. Ownership over anyone. That’s how the old world got screwed up. Everyone thinking they were someone’s boss, following rules made by people who only cared about themselves or the rewards they got from making these rules. It was bullshit. 

So, when night came around and she would sneak into one of the grays room, the boy being as dull as one could, but being good enough to kill a lonely night, she didn’t feel bad for it. Not even when someone suspected the two of something, really him, her sneaking out and back to her room before Ms. Mead could come and take them both to their death sentence. The brunette boy being the only one they took out. She was surprised he didn’t give her up. She was even more surprised when she didn’t feel an ounce of care for what had happened. 

I mean, she cared in the sense that now she would have to go back to using her hand rather than using him late at night. 

She didn’t even seem to find the care even when she walked past a couple of grays crying over the boys death. She stood, watching them, cry tears of loss and pain and she felt nothing. She hardly knew the guy. The two grays having seemingly known him more, having been so hurt over it. 

“He’s honestly the lucky one.” She had said, the two girls looking up at her with furrowed brows. “He doesn’t have to be in this shit hole anymore.” She sighed, shrugged. “I’m actually kind of jealous.” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” One of them says. Angrily. Their hands bawled into fists. The other girl wrapping their arm around their front as if to hold her back. 

All she does is smile, cross her arms, walk towards them slowly. “I’m being realistic. Honest. This world was shit when he was here and it’s shit now that he’s gone.” She’s stood in front of them now, fake frowning. “His death makes no difference. Just like all of ours won’t.” She smirks. 

She almost expects to feel a punch. A push. Her hair pulled or something with how angry the two girls look. With how much pain they are clearly harboring right now, but she feels nothing. No push. No fight. No nothing. The girls’ demeanor suddenly changing quickly. Standing up straighter. Looking past her shoulder. Giving a weak shaky smile as they wipe their tears from their eyes. 

She turns to see Langdon a few steps behind her, his face blank of any emotion, his usual look, as he looks at the once blubbering girls. And then he looks at her and his brows are narrowing, staring her down, and she’s not quite sure what to do. How to feel right now. What to say. 

She only remembers bits and pieces of her interview with Langdon. It was over fast after she had made it known that she didn’t care if he chose her or not and after he had asked her about all of the evils she had done in her life, her giving him a big smile and simply saying:

“you don’t have the time to see here and listen to all my problems Mr. Langdon, I have a list so long that it would take at least a weak. It would make your pretty face burn red from all the filthy things this girl has done.” She smirked, stood from the leather chair, put her palms on the edge of the desk, leaned as she said “you couldn’t handle it,” she pauses, watches the way he stares her down, never faltering, never blinking, the corner of his mouth only pulling up slightly in the smallest of smirks, “or maybe you could.” And then she’s biting her lip, giving him one last smile and excusing herself from his office. 

Some would say that was a foolish move. Writing her own death sentence because he sure wasn’t going to pick her now. But, she didn’t care. Death was inevitable. She wasn’t going to let some guy with beautiful hair and dangerous eyes come in here and change her mind about, make her beg for her life. She never begged a day in her life. She wasn’t going to start now. Or ever. 

But the way Langdon was looking at her right now. The tension that filled the room, that, for once, plagued her body. She thinks she might had taken it too far this time. Thinks he might send Venable to come and get her and give her the same poor fate as the gray boy. She tries to think up an excuse. Tries to form some sort of words but her mind is blank and all she can do is stare back at him. The intensity of it, the pure tension, making her body feel as if it were on fire. 

She swallows. Opens her mouth, hoping something will come out. But Michael’s talking before she can say anything. 

“My office.” Is all he says. Simple. Demanding. She can hear the venom in his voice. She doesn’t ask why. Thinks maybe it’s best she keeps her mouth shut right now. Doesn’t say a word as she follows behind him to his office. Leaving the two crying grays to stand alone in the desolate hall. 

Once they get to his office and Langdon has closed the sliding doors. He’s turning around, hands behind his back, walking towards her, his eyes never leaving hers, hers doing the same. 

“Do you fear anything?” He asks and it confuses her. Takes her back for a minute. Not expecting him to ask any questions. The only thing she expected was ‘you’re going to join the gray’ or something maniacal in the manner that she was going to be dead by dawn. “Answer truthfully. Do not give me some mockery answer that we both know is bullshit.” He smirks. 

She almost wants to now. To scowl at him and tell him some fad or bullshit answer just to displease him. But, if this was all going to end in her death she mine as well not go out a liar, maybe it will earn points with whatever chance at an afterlife she may get. 

“No.” She says simply. Honestly. Smiles at him. 

He gives her a quick grin, followed by a small grunt, and then he is walking around her, circling her as if she were prey. 

“Bullshit.” He says and he has stopped right in front of her again, smiling. “You’re easier for read than you think.” 

She’s scowling at him. Her fists bawled in the sides of her dress, she’s not mad. Irritated. Annoyed. Because what the hell does he know? Why does he care? And if he’s going to kill her can he just do it already? 

“If I’m so easy to read than why did you ask, Mr. Langdon?” She says. Matches his smile in the most mocking way. 

“I wanted to see how far you would lie to save your own life.” He smirks. “Because that’s what you’re worried about, is it not? Whether or not I am going to kill you. Much like you got that gray killed.” 

Her smile fades. Her face sinking, blank. She doesn’t know how he could know that. No one did. Only her. Unless the gray had said something and only Venable and Langdon knew. Maybe they had come together to discuss a plan of action to take her out. She didn’t know. She shouldn’t care. But, her stomach is in knots and she can’t look at Langdon anymore. His deep blue eyes taunting her. So she looks towards the fireplace. 

“Ah,” he steps closer to her, now in her personal space. “It is. You’re just a scared little girl who can’t bare being alone so you fucked some poor little gray in hopes that it would make you feel something.” He is smirking again, takes another step closer to her. Now close enough that when she turns her face his is inches from hers. Something that has her breathing stopped. “But you feel nothing.” 

She wants to step back. Not be this close to him. It’s making her stomach tighten. Sweat threaten at the name of her neck. Her dress feels way too tight right now. Way too hot. The heat radiating from Langdon’s body going straight to her. And to another place she tries for it to not. Hating that she finds pleasure in this situation. This situation of him seeing right through her facade. Of calling her out. Of throwing all her face down cards into the burning pit of self pity and loathing that she’s gathered for so long. It makes her angry. Makes her feel cowardly. Make her feel...pleasure. 

“I’ve always felt nothing.” She says bluntly and with as much venom and anger that’s bubbling inside her right now. “I could fuck a whole basketball team and still feel nothing.” She says, her voice going up in octaves a little. She thinks she should stop there but the way he’s smirking at her is doing things to her mind, and fuck it’s hot in there. “I got someone killed, murdered.” She laughs, “and I still feel nothing. I envy him. Because at least death is something to be felt.” She thinks, knows, she is sharing too much. Knows that her anger is getting the best of her. That she’s letting Langdon get to her like he gets to everyone else, and she doesn’t blame them. The man’s energy is enough to fill a room full of people with tension and dirty thoughts lingering in the back of their minds. He brings fear and carnal pleasure to a table that everyone here wants to be seated at. She doesn’t blame them...but hates that she wants the first chair at the table. 

She knows he is eating up every word she is saying right now. Whether he is reading through it, thinks she’s lying, or doesn’t care, she doesn’t know. But his smirk is still on his face his brow is raised and he’s interested. Maybe even wants to see her explode. 

So why should she not let it all out? Give him his moneys worth. 

She smirks, “do you want to know the only time I truly felt something?” She asks and he quirks his other brow in interest. “The only time I ever felt something was when I had that poor little gray on his knees begging for me to let him have even the smallest release. Begging me to let him in between my legs, to fuck, to taste. He was the saddest little fuck toy here.” She scoffs under her breath lowly, smiles. “Now, he didn’t make me emotionally happy. At least not in that sense. Though, when I saw him being dragged out of him room, knowing full well he was about to be executed, all I could do was smile.” She shrugs, looks back at Langdon, see’s how his facial expression has changed from one of pure interested to something else, something hidden. 

She smiles, none the less. Hoping this change in him means she’s gotten the upper hand. “Could you read all of that, Mr. Langdon?” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares at her. Lowers his eyes. His gaze. Before turning away from her and walking towards his desk. “Leave.” He says quickly. 

She should feel relief. He wasn’t going to kill her, or have her executed. At least not right now. But something in her doesn’t have her racing towards the door and running back to her room. No. Something deep within her belly is burning, sparking, having her feeling something. And it almost makes her sick. Almost makes her think of the poor gray. How the feelings he gave her started in her core and went up into her lower stomach. Making her insides burn with a sick gratificational pleasure that only one could label as: carnal. 

This was that same feeling. It hadn’t been the first time she had felt something around Langdon. Their first meeting she had felt the same burning. Had felt something other than distaste and nothingness. And sometimes when he entered the same room she was in she would turn to see him scowling at her. Something that on the outside she smirked out but on the inside had her on fire. Burning. 

“I said, leave.” He says again, this time with a little more bite to it. More dominant as if hoping she would get the memo. 

But she doesn’t leave. She stays. Crosses her arms. “So, you’re not going to kill me?” She asks. Doesn’t know why. She shouldn’t ask why he’s not killing her. Shouldn’t even wonder about it. “You just said read me like a book, basically played around with the idea of handing me a death sentence and you’re...asking me to leave?” She laughs softly. 

She watches him sit in the leather chair placed in front of his desk. Putting his elbows on the wooden surface, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “If death is what you want I can surely give it to you.” He no longer sounds angry or pressed. He sounds more annoyed and chaste than anything. 

The idea of her making Langdon feel anything, passed, annoyed, angry, makes her smile. Smirk. Makes the intensity of her insides burn as if gasoline has been poured on them. She was making a man such as this, someone who held themselves so powerfully, so graceful in a way that made you weak and burn. Someone who made carnal urges seep from the darkest parts of your mind. The fact that she could make him feel anything was a win for her. 

She walks slowly towards his desk, the purple heels that Venable deemed ‘mandatory’ clicking softly against the paved floor as she does. “Well, have I earned it?” She asks. Stops her movements once she’s reached the front of his desk. “I don’t want you to give it to me unless I’ve earned it.” She smirks and Langdon gives her a once over look before he’s closing his eyes and continuing to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

She frowns a little. Disappointed with the lack of smart remark. The lack of interest he is now showing in her taunting. But with the way he is taking deep breaths in and shallow breaths out, and the way that she can see his leg bouncing from under the desk, she knows that there is something else on his mind. Something worth more her time than she. 

She almost thinks maybe he is ill. About to pass out or is having an attack or something. She’s not sure. Thinks it’s ridiculous for either of those things to be true when he was just fine. Just saying he would grant her death. Just all up in her face. 

She bites the inside of her cheek, puts her palms on his desk, leans forward, about to say something snidely hoping it’ll bring him back to earth, or at least back to threatening her. She prefers that Langdon over this one. But as she’s leaning her eyes catch something in the gap he has left between him in the desk. Something hard to miss really. Something that has everything clicking inside her head. Something that makes her lean off of the desk, her face turning up into a smirk. 

Langdon has a boner. 

And it explains everything. Why he moved away from her so fast. Why he asked her to leave. Why his breathing was so labored right now, why his leg was bouncing so fast right now. 

But it also doesn’t make since to her. 

If any person, man, was going to dominate her, put her in her place, make her shut up by bringing her to her knees or fucking her senseless, she was sure Langdon was that man. He made a simple thing such as walking look and feel sexual. His demeanor, his movements, his mannerisms and words. It all lead anyone to believe that he would dominate not only outside of the bedroom but in it. 

But the way he acting right now did not say any of those things. It was surprising, shocking, to her. It also made a part of her feel a silent victory. A silent ache in her core that had her walking around the desk and leaning up against, her hip close to his arms, almost touching. She didn’t know if it was the burn in her stomach, the ache she felt in her core, or the fact that Langdon read her like a book and it messed with her head in the best ways, but she leans in close to his ear as she whispers, “you’re easy to read too Mr. Langdon. How long have you been hard for me?” 

And it’s as if she had said something dangerous. Something that cut him in a way that has him groping onto her wrist, giving her a deadly look, his voice low and filled with venom. “Leave.” 

It scares her a little. Looking at him with nervous eyes. “It’s just...” she starts, swallows nervously. “It’s just a boner. Guys get them all of the time. You don’t need to...be so uptight about it.” She says. 

“It doesn’t!” He says angrily. Let’s go of her wrists, sits back down in his chair, looks straight ahead towards the fire. A nasty scowl on his face. 

“It doesn’t what?” She asks. She shouldn’t. Now would be the best time for her to leave. To just drop it. To take this for what it was before he makes her death wish come true. 

He doesn’t say anything for a bit. Just stares forward. Burning a hole in the already burning fire. “It doesn’t happen, all of the time.” He says, calmer. Bland. “Not to me.” 

“Like, you have issues..down there?” She asks gently. Not wanting to have him growl in her face again or rip her head off this time for continuing to disobey his order to leave and question him on his still, very hard dick.

He turns his head towards her, still scowling. “No.” He says and leaves it at that. Turns back to the fire. 

“Ok..” she says, crosses her arms. “Then what?”

“I have asked you three times now to leave, and yet you have done nothing more than make it clear that I should not spare your life at all.” He turns back to her. Venom once again in his voice. “Do you really wish to die that bad? Do you crave death the way you craved your little gray?” He smirks. 

She can feel him projecting his anger and distaste for the conversation at hand onto her with tearing her down. With threatening and taunting her with the idea of death. With the idea of her own death, and whether or not she wishes for it. Her ‘little gray’ the words sticking into her head like a hot brand. The way they rolled off his tongue. The way he made them sound so dirty in a grudging way. 

She knew the same tactics. She used them before. Before the world went to shit, on people she hated, liked, could only stand for a few seconds. It almost made her smile the ways Langdon did things, almost reminding her of herself. Heartless. Cold. Fire. 

But deep down full of something unexplainable and torturously delectable that not many could see the beauty in it unless you were just as fucked up. 

“I don’t know.” She says, stares back at him. “Do you crave me the way I crave death?” She’s side stepping now, moving until her butt is leaned up against the desk straight in front of him. Her dress and knees bumping his as she stands before him. He’s no longer smirking. He swallowing and digging his nail into his thighs. “Or, do you crave me the way my little gray did?” She asks, smirks. She puts her leg in the opening of his legs, it’s small, but when her foot comes to rest their they part just a little bit more and Langdon is glancing down quickly and back up at her, back to scowling as if he weren’t looking. “It doesn’t look like you have issues to me, Mr. Langdon. At least not in that department.” She nods towards the very visibly tent in his black pants. 

“That’s, it’s, not the issue.” He says pressed. Looks her dead in the eyes, “you are.” 

She scoffs a little. “What? Just because I won’t leave th—“ 

“No.” He says loudly. Shutting her up before she can continue whatever rant she had planned. Because he really did not want to hear. He really didn’t. Not right now when he was trying everything in his power to not only make her leave, but to make the problem in his pants leave as well. 

His hands come up to pinch the bridge of his nose again, sighing deeply. He knows if he doesn’t give her something she will never leave. He’s not one for bullshitting, he see’s no purpose in it. Only the weak bullshitted and he wasn’t weak. Even with her around him, he wasn’t weak. He reminded himself. 

“You...giving me,” he motions towards the front of his pants, “these is the issue.” He looks away. Chides himself for doing so. He was never one to look away from anyone, over anything. He was powerful. The son of Satan. His destiny was legendary and vast. He was going to rule the world someday, hell, he already did. And yet he couldn’t look this girl, this nobody, in the eyes. Not out of embarrassment. He wasn’t embarrassed. He knew much about the human body that he knew what was going on. How it all worked. He was the smartest person in every room. He wasn’t ignorant. 

But each time he let his eyes move back to hers, hold her gaze for more than a few minutes he felt a low ache in his cock that he had never felt before. At least not from someone else. Another person. His entire life he had been too busy blazing a path for his fathers reign of terror to take over the new world. He didn’t care or have time for such urges and pleasure. He found no need in it. Satan was carnal pleasure, but one he didn’t not participate in. 

Yet, when he had arrived here and after their first interviewed he found himself growing hard at her lack of empathy and coldness towards everything and everyone. She had a sadistic nature to her that she let show through her bullshit that he found himself pinning for. Something he grew to find irritating. 

She was a very attractive girl. He had sometimes found himself looking at her from across the room wondering what she looked liked under that purple gown. What she was like when she snuck off at night to feed her urges with that gray. And when he had overheard her speaking to the two weeping grays in the hall, the lack of remorse and heart she held for someone she had helped in getting killed, even then he felt himself growing hard. Felt that ache in the base of his cock. It only growing worse when she had spoke to him with truth. With anger. With hate. With lust. He could see it in her eyes. How she craved for him to do something to her. To kill her. Fuck her. Anything. 

It only became a problem for him when she began to taunt him. To smirk in his direction as if he were beneath her when it were the other way around. He had to sit down. Had to ground himself. Had to get her away from him. Had to stop himself from sinking to his knees and asking her to fuck him. 

The idea of him bowing to anyone. Praising anyone else. Letting someone else hold any sort of power over him made him sick. Made him want to do the worst kinds of things. But, when he looked at her, heard her speak with such distaste and hate for the world, for everyone but herself, see her strength in carnal pleasure, it made him want to sink to his knees, to bow to her, to give her a control over him that was both filthy and degrading. 

She’s staring at him, almost looking pleased with herself, as if he had just given her some grand compliment. She doesn’t say anything though, and the next thing he knows she is on her knees in front of him, her hands on his knees, making him tense and give her a dirty look. 

“Let me help you with this issue then, since it is my fault and after all.” She smiles. “It’s the least that I can do, Mr. Langdon.” And she’s running her hand up his thigh and he slams his hand around her wrist, before she can get any further, tight and shaky. When she looks up at him she expects to see a look of evil, anger, the last thing she see’s before he slits her throat for finally having crossed the line. But she doesn’t see any of those emotions on his face. The only thing she see’s is a look of confusion diluted down by the want of something else. And it takes a minute before it makes sense to her. 

Langdon is a virgin. 

She had been around a bit to know when someone was inexperienced. The look of hesitation mixing with the intensity of want was apparent. She could read it. Sense it. Just like now with the way Langdon was looking at her. And it surprises her. Shocks her almost. She never pictured Langdon of all people would be inexperienced. But I guess it’s true that you shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover. She smiles. It’s almost kind of cute. It is cute. And, even hotter to her actually. Sure she would love to be bent over a desk and ravaged. But the thought, and look, of his big blue eyes looking down at her all dowey and filled with a lust he has never truly felt before, made her stomach drop down to her core. The low ache there turning into a pulse that had her legs almost quivering from the need, the want. 

“Do you want me to stop?” She asks. It’s genuine. Nice. Soft. Her eyes look up at him in a way he is not too familiar with. Her regular scowl and anger not held behind it. It’s soft, gentle, and mixed with what he can only assume is the same pleasuring thoughts and demeanor that slowly takes over his body with each passing second he stares at her. Has her touching him. 

And he knows he doesn’t want her to stop. He knows that for a fact. Only gripping her wrist on impulse. His nerves over heated and jumpy. He has never felt so unkept, so in out of control. In the back of his mind he hates it. A part of him is screaming at himself to get together. But that part of his brain does not out way the way his stomach is in knots, or how his cock aches, pulses, needs for something, a touch. A simple one. Or that his heart clenches at the way she’s looking up at him. He almost wishes the roles were reversed and he could be looking up at her. With the need he feels she has him in the palm of her hands like putty and he’s not even sure she knows it. 

He shakes his head. “No.” He says, just above a whisper. A hint of a whimper, a whine, mixed somewhere in there with it. His cheeks burn and he lets go of her wrist. Swallows. Doesn’t take his eyes off of hers. Even as her hand goes back to traveling slowly up his thigh. A low, throaty, almost cry, escapes his mouth when her fingers run over his clothed erection, his hips bucking up involuntarily. His eyes closing, clenched, not exactly knowing how to deal with the pleasure that just ran through his body, lighting every nerve ending he had on fire, making his already hot body go up ten degrees. His nails digging into the side of the legs so hard that he’s sure he smells blood in the air. 

She doesn’t know how long he may last. Wishing, wanting, to tease him with her fingers, maybe even her mouth, from the outside of his pants, but by his erection to her fingers skating across his hard length she knows that if she does any of those things he’s probably going to cum in his pants. And as much as she would love to see that humiliation on his face, something that might do him good, the only thing on her mind, really, is giving him the most pleasure she can. Wanting to hear him moan because of her. Buck his hips up into her hand, her mouth, have him fall apart just for her. Beautifully. Rawly. 

So she unbuttons his pants, moves the fabric down just enough so she has room to slip her hand inside and pull out his hard cock, eliciting a low hiss from his as the warm of the room and the feel of her soft palms, makes goosebumps liter his skin. She planned to stay down on her knees. The thought of using her mouth on him making a small moan settle in the back of her throat. But, with the way he’s looking down at her so helpless, so needy, she knows that she needs to be closer to him. 

And in one quick move she’s let go of him, standing up, reaching behind her to unzip her dress, because she is not going to be able to do anything in this oversized gown, let’s it fall from her body to the floor, Langdon’s eyes on her the entire time, racking up and down her body, swallow hard, his mouth pressed tightly together. She kicks it to the side leaving herself on in her undergarments as she straddles herself across Langdon’s knees, her legs on either side of him, her feet almost touching the floor. 

She gives him a sweet smile, wraps her palm around his still hard length, gripping it a bit, the reaction to her doing a simple thing, a simple touch, a simple swipe of her thumb along the head, collecting the pre-cum there to run it along the rest of his length to give herself a little slick, has her mouth falling open. Has her eyes almost hooded. Has her hips moving ever so lightly forward, for any type of friction as she watches him. His lips parting, his tongue coming out to lick them, his eyes closing slowly, the lowest of moans coming from him. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. 

She begins to pump his, slowly, her wrist twisting just ever so lightly once she reaches his swollen head. And Michael doesn’t know if he’s ever felt something so amazing, yet so intense. So breathtaking in the form of a simple touch. He’s trying everything in him to not let all of the moans and feelings he’s feeling fall from his lips. Even though he wants to. Wants to throw his head back and praise to Satan. Praise to himself. Praise to her. Because it feels so good. He’s dreamt about this. Nights when he couldn’t get her out of his dead. Her scowl. Her ruthlessness. Dreamt of falling to her feet and having her take all of his carnal urges and turn them into something filthy. Something horrifically beautiful until he is a mess. Wrecked from his own pleasure and from her body. Every part of her. 

And she’s doing that now. With her hand wrapped around his achingly hard cock. The way her fingers skate over his head every now and then, softly, a fleeting feeling that has his hips bucking and lips swollen and wet from biting. 

And she can she how good it feels for him. How much pleasure he’s getting out of this, and yet he’s barely making a noise. Little grunts and groans here and there that are stopped before they can fall from his lips. She can tell by the way he avoids eye contact with her that he’s trying to hold back. Trying to stay grounded even while she’s giving him immense pleasure. And she gets it, she understands. She loves his need for control. His want to let go of it, but not being able to. 

So she leans her top forehead, places her hand at the base of his throat, grips it light enough to let him know it’s there, and pushes his head up so it’s level with hers. “Mr. Langdon,” she whispers. Coos. Close to his lips. “Look at me.” He doesn’t, but when she presses her fingers into his neck a whimper falls from his parted lips, he blinks, swallows, and then he’s looking at her. And it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. His eyes are glazed over with a type of pleasure one could only wish to feel. To witness. It has her breath lost in the back of her throat. Her hips stuttering against his leg and a smile coming across her face. 

“Does it feel good, Mr. Langdon?” She asks and it makes his breath hitch. It makes his mouth fall further apart. Because yes, it feels good. Too good. Too everything. He doesn’t know where to keep his head right now. Where to put his hands, what to do with his mouth, or how to form words. His brain is a haze of pleasure and her. The two things he’s not let himself have, but finally he’s got it, he needs it, wants it so bad. He has no more control. It’s all in her hands. She has him. 

“Michael.” Is all he says. All he can seem to get out as she continues to stroke him. Slow, languid. She gives him a confusing look, not sure as to what he means. “Michael, call me, Michael.” He elaborates, his breath heavy. 

She smirks, says again, “does it feel good, Michael?” 

“Yes,” he’s whimper, stuttering. Staring at her with this look of pure softness and pleasure, that has her wanting to do one thing and one thing only: kiss him. And so she does. Presses her lips to his. The two letting out a shared breathy moan that vibrates against there salvia slicked lips. She can feel his hands ghosting lighting at her sides, as if he wants to touch her but not sure if he should. 

She pulls away from his lips and he whines. Actually let’s it slip from his lips, tries to follow her mouth with his but her hand on his throat stops him. “I know it feels good, so good.” She says softly, smirks. “So let yourself feel it, Michael. Let it out. Let yourself have it.” She presses a kiss to his chin, nips at it a bit. “Don’t hold back.” She kisses her way up to his lips, presses hers to his in a chaste kiss. “Do you understand?” She asks looking into his eyes, his looking back at her. It takes a second before he’s nodding. Handing over the last bits of control he tried to hold over himself. His hands coming to rest at her sides finally. Her wrist twisting in a way that has a moan, raw, loud, filled with pleasure and need, falling from his lips. His head bowing just a bit. “Good boy.” She says against his lips and it illicit’s another moan. And she completely understands now what he needs. Praise. Pleasure. For her to take full control and be in charge of him. 

So that’s what she does. She continues to touch him, stroke his hard cock in her hand, the pulse against her palm an indication of just how pain achingly he needs to cum. Needs for her to give him a release. Her mouth goes from his lips to his neck, pressing against the hot skin under his jaw, to his pulse point, her tongue running along the artery, before her teeth sink into it softly. Michael’s grip on her side tensing as his head falls back, his mouth open, his eyes rolling back into his head, his hips pushing up into her hand as he slowly fucks into her palm. 

“That’s it, baby.” She says, moans against his sensitive skin. “It feels good doesn’t it?” 

He’s whimpering, whining, moaning, a mess, “yes, so good.” He says, leans his head back up rests it in the crook of her neck. She can feel his hot breath there against her skin making her own whimper come out. 

And Michael thinks, knows, he loves the sound, the feel of her breath against him, her lips against his, her mouth littering touches and licks and bites all over his skin. It makes something inside him flutter, tense. He wants to not only feel more of her, but hear more of those sounds. More of her praises. More more more. So he presses his lips to her neck, copies, tries to remember through his haze of pleasure how she had ran her mouth along his neck, littering kisses along her neck, licking, sucking, biting, making loud moans vibrate from her lips against his skin. 

But he doesn’t stop there. Suddenly feeling brave. A need to touch more, to see more, so he runs his hands up her sides, to her shoulders, pulling down the strap to her undergarment there, until it reaches the junction of her arm. She pulls back and he’s looking up at her. Her movements on his cock have stopped and it makes him whine and ache more. But, what comes next has him moaning softly: she grabs the half pulled down strap. Pulls it further until it’s off her body, along with the other, pulls down the fabric that’s enclosing her breasts and then their free. On full show, for him. And his mouth is watering as he lets his eyes fall from hers and onto her chest. She looks so soft. So delectable. And he wants to touch. Wants to taste. And he’s looking back up at her, a silent plea, a hard shallow, a swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip. 

She’s smiling, running her fingers through his long blonde hair, soft, gentle. She doesn’t make him ask, or beg, the look of need in his eyes has her thinking it would be too cruel. Thinks he might cry if she doesn’t allow him to just touch her already. So she nods and that’s all he needs and his mouth is leaving a trail of kisses from her neck, to her chest, to the tops of her breast. 

Her head falling back slightly at the feel of his hot, wet mouth. Her hand once again going back to stroking his cock, his moans falling against her skin. 

“Can I?” He’s breathless. His hand is cupping one of her breasts, his mouth inches away from her nipple, his hooded, needy hazed, eyes looking up at her in a want that has her legs shaking. “Please,” he whines. 

“Yes, Michael. Yes.” She says, moans when he wastes no time in latching his lips onto her nipple. She can tell he’s not sure of any technique or what really to do, the only thing on his mind is tasting her, his lips sucking at her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple. It has her fingers gripping his hair slightly. Her hips rocking against his thighs. The needy, sweet moans that fall from Michael’s mouth and against her breast making her brain go hazy. Making her have to ground herself. Remembering that this is about Michael’s pleasure. About letting him feel, taste, touch, cum. 

So she’s tightening her grip on his cock, twisting her wrist more, stroking him faster than she once was. And it has him a moan mess. A whimpering mess. The way he tries to focus on sucking at her breasts, kneading them, biting at them, but can’t help but pull off and press his face into her chest moaning. His hands gripping her body tighter as he starts to move his hips up in rhythm with her strokes. 

And Michael can feel himself getting closer. Closer to something that has his balls tensing, his body gripping onto anything it can, her body, her breasts. It feels so good. So so good. He can’t stop the curses that fall from his lips and against her skin. Or the way his mouth just nips and kisses at her flesh as he presses his face into her chest. His hips moving at a faster rate than they once were. 

“You’re so close, baby.” She smiles against the shell of his ear. “So close for me, I can feel it. Can feel your cock aching, needing to feel release. To cum.” She brings her hand back to his throat, pulls his face from her chest and he’s just as beautiful as ever, lips a bright red and swollen, his cheeks a deep red, sweat gathered at his forehead, his eyes hardly being able to stay open from the immense pleasure he is feeling. He’s breathtaking. And she wants to see him cum, just like this, whimpering, shaking, and trying to focus on her eyes. “Cum for me, Michael.” She whispers close to his lips. 

And that’s all the encouragement he needs before his body tenses, his eyes falling shut for a split second before they meet hers again, tears brimming, mouth hung open in a loud moan, as he cums, spilling into her hand, and onto her thighs, as his body shakes and shudders with a pleasure that has him praising her. That has him feeling more on fire than when they started. That has him seeing red. A feeling that he wants to grip onto and feel over and over. A carnal pleasure that makes the dark parts of his mind smirk and show their teeth. 

“Good boy.” She says softly, smiles, leans forehead and presses a kiss to his forehead and he holds her there for a few seconds. Until he’s caught his breath. Until he’s comes down. 

She’s the first one to pull back, and he already has his eyes on her, their droopy and sedated. His face holds a look of silent praise that she thinks she will never hear him actually say out loud. Or maybe even see again. Not knowing if this was going to be a one time thing. Or if now he was finally going to kill her. But it’s there and she’s smirking back at him. 

She’s trying to get off of his lap, moving slowly, but is stopped when he grabs at her wrist again, pulling her back down enough for him to put his hand on the side of her neck, gripping it as he leans up to catch her lips. A chaste kiss that’s over quicker than it happened. 

Then he’s staring at her again, his classic smirk on his face. The helpless boy that she just made cum now gone. “Until next time,” he says lowly, his thumb coming to brush against her bottom lip, a glimpse of something she just saw, just experienced, flashing across his eyes as he stares at her lips, before it’s gone and he’s looking back up at her. “Stay away from the grays. I’d rather not dispose of anymore bodies anytime soon.” He says sternly. 

She laughs, pulls away from him. Slips her dress back on. “I’ll do my best.” She smirks, “Continue being a good boy, Michael.” The notion, the words, has him tensing. Scowling with a smirk, before she leaves his office.


End file.
